


Left

by TragicLove



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TragicLove/pseuds/TragicLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is definitely not going out of his way to drive by his ex-girlfriends house. He isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is.

If Harry Styles were ever honest with himself, he’d tell himself that it isn’t healthy to go out of your way to drive past your ex-girlfriends house every single night, but then he’d rationalize with himself that he only lives two streets over, and really it’s not out of the way, it’s on the way, how else is he supposed to get home? But then he’d tell himself that driving by twice was certainly not necessary and he should just go home, to his empty house that’s far too big for him, far too quiet, far too dark, far too empty.   
  
But Harry Styles is never honest with himself. In fact, Harry Styles is dishonest with himself to a fault.   
  
He doesn’t know what you’re talking about, he’s not driving by anyone’s house. He doesn’t even know anyone who lives on this street, and he certainly never woke up in a bed in a house on this street, early afternoon sunlight streaming through the curtains, the sounds of Bob Dylan floating up the stairs from the kitchen, the smell of eggs and bacon and coffee pulling him awake.   
  
That never happened, and he’s not driving past anything, he’s just going home. If you asked him if he shuts his headlights off and drives by slow, slow enough to see the shadow moving past the upstairs window, or the cat sitting in the downstairs one, he’d tell you you’re crazy, he’d definitely never do that, and no, he didn’t see the new rose bush that had been planted out front.  
  
He doesn’t want to see her, that much is clear. All he’d have to do is turn left instead of staying straight, but every single night, every single time he drives straight on home, he’s never so much as tilted the wheel to the left, not even once, so obviously you’d be crazy if you suggested maybe he should just go and talk to her.   
  
Except he does. He does so much it hurts, a physical, deep ache right in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes it throbs, but sometimes it’s just barely there, just enough to remind him what was, what could have been, what should be. Just enough to forever remind him how much he’d screwed up, how much he could have had if only he’d just come back, stood on her door step and told her he was sorry. And he is. He’s never been so sorry for anything in his life. He should have done something, he should have fought, but for different reasons. He should have stayed on that boat, he never should have left. But, how do you go back and erase awful things said, how do you start again after disappearing for so long?   
  
On his third go ‘round on a particularly bad night, the ringing of his phone snapped him out of his trance. Looking down at the caller ID and seeing Louis’ name he shook his head.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“What’re you up to?”   
  
“Driving ‘round,”   
  
“It’s 2:30 in the morning, mate,” Louis mumbled, Harry could tell he was just getting in bed, calling him to check that he got home safe after they left the club they’d been at.   
  
“I know,” Harry sighed, shrugging as if Louis could see him.   
  
“You driving past her house again?”   
  
There was a pregnant pause while neither of them said anything, Harry not even having the will to deny, and Louis not sure if he should scold his friend or pretend that this wasn’t becoming a problem.   
  
“Talk to her, mate.”  
  
“Can’t,”   
  
“And why not?” Louis breathed into the phone, always the practical one.  
  
“She hates me, Lou.”   
  
“Does not, you know she doesn’t.”   
  
“Well, she should then.”   
  
The first drops of rain fell onto the windshield then, picking up a steady rhythm within seconds. _Drip, drip, drip_ , silence falling on the line between them, nothing else to be said. They hung up a few seconds later, Louis telling Harry to be safe and Harry agreeing.   
  
He turned onto her street one more time, he swore this would be the last time.   
  
He rolled slowly up, headlights off, except this time when he turned his head, there she was, sitting on the stoop, an old t-shirt of his on, falling to her thighs, her feet bare. The rain was matting her hair, but she sat there, looking at his car, her lips turned down, her eyes wide.   
  
Their eyes locked, his heart pounding in his chest, that dull ache in his stomach turning more pronounced. She nodded her head once and he nodded back.   
  
This time he turned left.


End file.
